


A God for Every Season

by timkons



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Autumn, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, MatsuHana Week, Persephone Cycle, Slice of Life, Spring, Summer, Winter, references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timkons/pseuds/timkons
Summary: Mortals have all kinds of foolish tales, like how Hades and Persephone's annual reunion causes the seasons. Matsukawa knows better.





	A God for Every Season

**Author's Note:**

> late, but this was written for matsuhana week 2017's day three theme: fairy tale. this is a veeeery loose take on the theme as a hades and persephone retelling! [cheesy](https://cheesyshenanigans.tumblr.com) and i collabed on this idea! (art forthcoming, ayyy.)

**Winter.**

It is winter, the season Matsukawa hates the most. ‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year,’ some say, decked out in itchy, blood-red sweaters while drinking a coffee that costs five times the cost it takes to make it. Others rejoice at the first fall of snow, but Matsukawa sighs in resignation, knowing that the newfallen snow will turn into a hideous eyesore of yellow and brown in a matter of weeks. It’s not even a matter of pessimism or grinching; it is simply the cycle of everything: that which is new, beautiful and delightful is fleeting. The first fallen snow, the innocence of believing in Santa, first love. Everything dies.

And so Matsukawa hates winter. Not because the sun hides behind snowy clouds all day long, or because the wind cuts to the bone with every breeze, or because his skin and lips chap until they’re raw and red. No, what Matsukawa hates the most is that the sidewalks are all iced, making every step a question of life and death. What Matsukawa hates are the sniffles of a fever or flu on a public bus, knowing that one of them may very well die from what seems a benign infection. What Matsukawa hates is knowing that he’ll have the corpse of somebody’s grandmother or grandfather on his table tomorrow, frost bitten to death because they died alone and cold in a heaterless room. Old people are expected to die. Children are not.

That’s the other thing. Some call him an entrepreneur, others call him a shrewd businessman. Matsukawa calls himself director of the Seijou Funeral Home. His other title: mortician.

Matsukawa stares at the wrinkled body on his stainless steel table today, feeling as cold as the steel the body rests on. He reminds himself that he’ll need to embalm the body for the wake and that there’s a pile of his paperwork waiting so that the family can claim their certificate of death, but he can’t seem to force himself to work.

There’s something about this body that bothers him. It’s not like the others he’s seen in the past week. This one isn’t smiling serenely, like they do whenever they pass pleasantly in their sleep. This one’s face is all squished in on itself, the ugly curl of the lip frozen in place from where this one died with teeth still chattering. This one is so frozen solid that the fingers have no give, refusing to release the blanket that was their sole comfort and warmth in those final moments. This one suffered.

Winter did this, Matsukawa thinks bitterly, holding his scalpel for the first incision.

-

“It was so sudden, there was nothing I could do!” Oikawa cries into his hand. “I don’t know what I’ll do anymore… The world feels so empty without him.”

“Hm,” Matsukawa says back, though it’s more into the warm cup of coffee in his hands than Oikawa’s tears. Oikawa hasn’t even touched his coffee, which shows just how serious he is about this ordeal. “But it was just a fish.”

 _“Just a fish?”_ Oikawa repeats. When he looks up, the skin around his eyes is raw and pink, and there are little red veins in his eyes from where he’s been crying. “He was the only thing that ever relied on me! We shared twelve years together!”

“Exactly my point. It’s a wonder it lived so long.” Matsukawa takes a gulp of his coffee as Oikawa screeches in the coffee shop. Matsukawa can’t understand it; as the reincarnation of Hades in this life, he’s used to death. This one is a mortal. This one is emotional and optimistic and has bright eyes that struggle even in the face of death. It’s what piqued Matsukawa’s interest in the first place. “Most only last ten at most.”

His companion sniffles dramatically, holding a tissue to his genuinely teary eyes. “Kin-chan was a truly miraculous creature. He had so much life in him, so much to live for!”

Matsukawa doesn’t understand mortals, never has, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like them. In truth it’s their attachment and affections he wishes he could feel, to feel like something other than the dead snow. And so, he offers: “I’ll hold a wake for it.”

“Kin-chan isn’t an ‘it’! Kin-chan is a ‘he’! And he deserves to be remembered for his life!”

“Then I’ll hold a wake for _him,”_ Matsukawa corrects dryly.

Oikawa leaps over the table so heartily and suddenly that it nearly knocks both of their coffees to the ground. Before Matsukawa knows what hits him, he has two warm arms around his neck. “I knew you loved him too, Mattsun!”

-

Matsukawa holds the mini scalpel he bought just for Oikawa’s goldfish and snorts. Upon the first incision, he sees that Kin-chan is actually a ‘she.’

-

The wake is simple, as per Oikawa’s request. Matsukawa honestly expected Oikawa to request fireworks or a hundred butterflies to be released at his moment of burial, but Oikawa and his boyfriend Iwaizumi agreed that Kin-chan was a fish of sullen character and deserved an appropriate funeral.

There’s a small casket that Matsukawa made by hand at the front of the room, with a picture of the fish in his prime. Just like all of the humans who had been prepared and shown in this very room, the picture looks joyous and exuberant, as though something as cruel as death wasn’t even a part of their universe.

Matsukawa directs the invited guests to their seats while Oikawa’s lover holds his hand and Oikawa pays his final, weepy respects over his fish. He’s seating a couple of some of Oikawa’s more eccentric friends when he feels the air change and the blood in his veins thaw. It smells like waking up to the first fall of snow of the season, and Matsukawa’s pulse begins to quicken with the undeniable feeling in his bones of meeting one of his kind.

He looks around and there’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen taking off the neon purple beanie off his head and shaking his short, pink hair of the bits of snow that had stuck to it. Matsukawa can only watch helplessly as this being takes another step into his parlor, slinking off the cyan bomber jacket that had kept him warm. He reminds himself to breathe and do his job, but Oikawa’s already breaking from Iwaizumi to throw himself at this new stranger. “Makki-chaaaaaaaaan! I’m so glad you’re here!”

“You’re already crying? You haven’t even heard my eulogy yet!” the guy teases. He dares to ruffle Oikawa’s flawless hair, something Matsukawa has never seen anybody -- mortal and god alike -- do, and he approaches quietly.

“Sit with us, Makki!” Oikawa insists, tugging along the beauty by the wrist just as Matsukawa reaches them.

“Matsukawa Issei. I’m the director of this funeral home, and I’ll show you to your seat,” he says by way of introducing himself. Normally he’d allow clients to sit themselves in a situation like this, but he feels compelled to make the first contact.

The guy’s eyes widen as soon as they lock eyes, and Matsukawa knows that he can feel it too.

“Sure,” this god says in a voice as smooth as silk or honey. “I’m Hanamaki Takahiro. Nice to meet you.”

-

Matsukawa doesn’t usually hold receptions at the funeral home, but he allows it this once since it’s Oikawa. He’s not surprised and doesn’t really care when somebody opens their lugged trunk to reveal several bottles of wine and beer, even taking a bottle of beer for himself as he stands against the darkest corner in hall, observing all the life and revelry in this place of death. He may be a god, but reincarnation comes with its own perks, none the least being able to lose himself in the taste of alcohol, something he plans on doing to the fullest right now.

His shoulders tense with that feeling of afternoon sunshine and leaves dancing in the wind, and Matsukawa looks up to where Hanamaki is approaching him. There’s a sway in his step, though Matsukawa can’t tell if it’s natural or from the booze. The feeling of melting ice only intensifies as he leans against the wall like a mirror reflection of the mortician. “Matsukawa, right?”

Matsukawa eyes him up and down and tries to assert his own aura. It’s not a pleasant one, he knows from experience. It’s not intense pain like everybody imagines it to be; it’s dull, easy, effortless. It’s the ebb of slipping away from life in all its unexciting, mundane glory. “That’s one of my names.”

Matsukawa waits for the usual reaction: an indifferent look, if not one of complete disappointment.

“I _knew_ it!” the guy cheers far too brightly for meeting the God of Death, smiling around the bottle of his beer. He digs out his phone -- an obnoxious green thing -- and expectantly waits for Matsukawa to do the same. “Great, let’s exchange numbers and we can talk more about this sometime! Somewhere less…”

“Without Oikawa,” Matsukawa finishes for him, digging out his phone. Like his operation table, it’s sleek and silver, without decoration.

“Exactly.” Hanamaki snorts. “Here, put your info in mine and I’ll put my info in yours.”

They exchange phones. Matsukawa stares in silent judgment at the phone shoved in his hands while Hanamaki is less discreet: “your phone is all defaults? You don’t even have pictures for any of your contacts. Well, mine gets to be the first!”

Matsukawa watches out of the edges of the eyes as Oikawa’s friend snaps a selfie of himself and begins tapping at the screen. Matsukawa more quietly fills out his contact information. Hanamaki strikes him as the kind of person who uses emoji, so Matsukawa adds a black heart and the skull and crossbones emoji next to his first name.

They return their phones as easy as the exchange was, but Hanamaki frowns at his. “You didn’t take one. Here, look at me.”

Matsukawa barely looks in Hanamaki’s direction before there’s a blinding flash that takes him a few seconds to get the spots out of his eyes.

“Perfect! Gotta go before Oikawa starts crying again,” Hanamaki laughs, leaving as brilliantly as he came. He pushes off the wall and skips away backwards, swishing his hand in waves so big that his whole arm moves. “Call me sometime!”

Matsukawa looks down at his phone. Next to the image of Hanamaki with puckered lips as if he’s shooting a kiss is the name, ‘Persephone,’ and a chain of heart emojis.

-

**Spring.**

It is spring, Matsukawa’s favorite season. The snow melts and the first stems of green peek through the dirt and everything comes alive with the spirit of new beginnings. Matsukawa may be the god of death, but that doesn’t mean he wants to deal with it more than necessary; after all, it was only a matter of lots, not choice, that made this realm his own. He’d much rather watch the clouds shift into shapes he can only guess at or inhale the crisp freshness that spring showers leave than feel the lost life beneath the ground he treads.

There are some people who are complete spring nuts. They part their curtains and lift up their shutters and open all the windows to let in the sunshine and chase away the stale air of winter. That’s Matsukawa. The sunshine peeking through the slit of his black out curtains energizes him in the morning, and the tweeting birds while walking to his job make him feel hopeful. He’s too self-conscious to allow any plants in his apartment, where only death thrives, but he gets a thrill at the fresh flower centerpieces in restaurants and how his neighbors’ crusty plants begin to thrive again on their terraces. He gets spring fever in every way imaginable: washing the heavy sheets, sealing away his down coats, sweeping away the dead, winter smell during spring cleaning.

But he’s no fool to think that spring is particularly beautiful. In truth, the bright colors and new life only seem all the more disturbing, a sick joke, when faced with dead body after dead body on his sterile operating table. There’s just something about spring that’s so wonderful, but his very being reminds him how futile it is. He holds his scalpel and looks down impassively at his latest customer. He only hesitates a moment before stabbing the instrument in and dragging it down the flesh with all the precision as he would any other job, ignoring the cold chill of anxiety that feels like it’s curling, binding, and knotting his stomach.

It feels like a slap in the face how pliant the skin is beneath his touch. Supple and young, the body beneath him deserved much longer than she received. It’s a sick irony how spring ushers new life into the world, just as it takes away one as young as the child on this table. No, there’s nothing particularly wonderful about spring. Not even spring stops death.

-

Matsukawa unlocks his phone and scrolls down to the only contact in his phone with an emoji next to it. His thumb hovers over the single button that will connect him to Hanamaki in a matter of seconds. He takes a deep breath, reminded of all the things he loves about spring when he remembers the bright colors Hanamaki had been wearing. Then he thinks of winter’s crushing hold, destroying everything that the spring brings.

Matsukawa doesn’t call Hanamaki.

-

“Iwa-chan and I are going to adopt a dog in honor of Kin-chan’s life!” Oikawa proudly announces over a white mocha.

Matsukawa hums and takes a sip of his espresso, noting with some pleasure that it’s getting too hot for coffee in the middle of the day. “Are you sure you’re not just replacing your goldfish with a dog?”

“Don’t say it like that! Kin-chan can hear you from heaven!” Oikawa snaps. He sniffles dramatically, which Matsukawa’s glad to see since it means Oikawa’s no longer genuinely crying over his beloved fish. (Rest in peace.) “Anyway, the point is, we want you to come help us pick one out. You have good instincts about this kind of thing.”

“Hmm.” Matsukawa hums in consideration, but in truth he’s already made up his mind. Going to the pound means being surrounded by the constant pull of death, something he’d rather avoid given how much death he already faces on a daily basis.

If Oikawa notices his reluctance, he says nothing, pushing forward as though Matsukawa had already agreed. “I need one that can smell the aliens before they land and chase the ghosts away if Iwa-chan gets possessed. So choose a good one, okay? Makki agreed to only show us dogs with esper potential.”

Matsukawa coughs out the coffee that suddenly finds its way down the wrong hatch. “Hanamaki? As in, Hanamaki Takahiro? He’s going to be there?”

“Yeah, he works at one of the rescues, so he’s the one showing us the dogs,” Oikawa says easily. He takes another sip of his coffee like it’s no big deal, but Matsukawa knows that carefree smile and sweet voice means that Oikawa’s trapped him just like he planned from the start. “So you’ll come, right?”

-

Which is how Matsukawa ends up in front of the rescue at too-fucking-early o’clock on a Saturday morning. Matsukawa isn’t exactly a morning person or a night owl, but arriving before opening hours is Too Early no matter how he thinks about it. He yawns into a palm and then pulls his jacket close; it’s getting warmer but the mornings are still chilly. His breath still puffs into a warm cloud, even though it’s too hot for a coat come midday. This early, he has to rub his palms together or breathe into his cupped hands in order to stay warm.

“You can come inside instead of waiting out there,” a voice says, all too familiar yet unrecognizable, as unsettling as deja vu.

Matsukawa takes a steadying breath before looking up to where the entrance’s bell jingles, a new chill slowly wrapping around his spine and settling into his bones. His fated one from a month ago is leaning against the entrance, a lazy smirk resting on his face and wearing yet another colorful ensemble. “Seriously, I got coffee in here. It’s way better. C’mon.”

Hanamaki disappears into the rescue before waiting for an answer, and Matsukawa only follows because he’s known the chill for as long as he’s known himself, but he’s never enjoyed it. It’s hot like a tropical beach inside, a bit humid from the breath of life and the plants strewn about. There’s a few birds circling around him and a wary cat or two that jump from their perches to rub against his leg. The dogs lazing around on the beds or playing with squeaky toys abandon their posts to maul Hanamaki, and Matsukawa knows he’s not hallucinating when even the petals and leaves of the plants bend toward him. It’s like life literally springs forth around him.

“Calm down, everybody!” Hanamaki laughs heartily, and the creatures back off just enough for him to greet each and every one of them by name and a pat on the head. While Hanamaki’s momentarily distracted, Matsukawa looks around the rescue, finding it to be cozier and more welcoming than he expected. Surrounded in the colors as bright as Hanamaki himself, he feels out of place. He doesn’t belong here, in this haven bursting with life. He shifts uncomfortably, but just as he’s ready to make some excuse of why he needs to go, Hanamaki extends him an open palm and a warm grin. “They want to know you too. Come meet them.”

Matsukawa feels stiff and unsure. He hasn’t felt this way since he can remember, comforted by his routine and the domain that is his own. It’s difficult to allow himself to accept the kind gesture, as captivating as it is. “They wouldn’t want to know me if they knew what I am.”

Hanamaki frowns for the first time since Matsukawa’s known him, and Matsukawa immediately feels the tight pull of regret anchor at the base of his stomach. “Not everybody is going to reject you for what you are, you know. Some might just love you for it.”

There’s a hint of annoyance and disappointment in Hanamaki’s tone, but Matsukawa doesn’t have a chance to disagree because Hanamaki’s scooping one of the smaller dogs into his arms and closing the space between them. Hanamaki cradles the small canine toward Matsukawa with all the gentleness and care as though the creature were his own child, and it pulls Matsukawa at the core, as if his very ribs were opening his heart to him. “This is Rocky. Say hi to Matsukawa, Rocky!”

Matsukawa swallows through his constricted throat and tentatively pets the little dog’s head. Its fur is soft and fluffy, how Matsukawa imagines Hanamaki’s hair might be if he pet it, and the dog licks his fingers in thanks, yipping happily. There’s no reason for Matsukawa to feel like crying, but the urge is still there because he can feel all the pain and struggle this dog has endured -- and will endure -- with one touch. He knows Hanamaki knows too, though neither would have ever guessed by the way the dog’s furry tail wags so hard that it keeps slapping Hanamaki in the face. “Hi, Rocky…”

-

“So the espers are in here!” Hanamaki announces with a clap of his hands after introducing each of the animals to Matsukawa. He kneels down and whistles for the dogs, and four furry friends barrel over to Hanamaki just like the dogs earlier.

One even steps toward Matsukawa, sitting at his feet with a whimper, but all Matsukawa can do is stare back. “They’re not really espers, are they?”

“Of course not,” Hanamaki laughs, letting the three other dogs lick his face and mess up his hair, like it doesn’t even matter to him, “but Oikawa feels better if I say they are. These are the ones that mean the most to me, so I want them to go to a good home. Their names are Arya, Snow, and Tyrion, and Khaleesi is the one saying hi to you.”

Matsukawa kneels down and looks at Khaleesi. He knows just by tracing the curve of her eyes with his own that he doesn’t want to touch her. “You’re a Game of Thrones fan?”

“Big time,” Hanamaki says, grinning. He hugs the dogs against his chest, swaying them back and forth like massive teddy bears, and sits on the floor with them.

Matsukawa’s gaze flickers between Hanamaki’s overflowing expressions of love -- the air kisses to the pooches and the wide pets of their bellies -- and the dog patiently sitting in front of him. He places a single hand behind Khaleesi’s ear to scratch only once and slowly pulls his hand away, standing up when he’s confirmed his suspicion. “Well if none of them are espers, then it was pointless to ask me to come.”

“Oikawa’s just trying to make you a part of his life.” Hanamaki’s voice is quiet, even as he doesn’t outright deny Matsukawa’s point. As if reacting to his moods, the dogs form a circle around him protectively, Arya bumping her nose against his cheek. “And…”

“And?”

“And I have a confession,” Hanamaki says in an annoyed sigh. He pets the dog nosing at him to calm her down and then stands up to join Matsukawa, all the while watching the dogs in concern. “It’s not that Oikawa’s late. It’s that I asked him to send you in earlier than him and Iwaizumi.”

“Why?”

Hanamaki’s sigh is entirely unwarranted, considering Matsukawa is the only one around here that should have the right to cross his arms and fix a look like _that_ at anybody. “Because I wanted you to tell me if any of these dogs aren’t right for Oikawa.”

Oh.

The thing.

Matsukawa hates it, even if he has no control over seeing how every life is going to end. Hanamaki, like other gods, is an exception, not that they’re immortal in these forms either. In his true form he’d have all the power and might of fire and brimstone, or so they say, but like this, there’s not much he can do beside tell how and when someone is going to die. It’s not something he thought Hanamaki would ask him to do, but it makes sense, he guesses, considering Oikawa took his fish’s death so seriously. So with a heavy heart, he points to Khaleesi. “Not that one. The rest are healthy.”

Hanamaki’s breath hitches the moment Matsukawa points to one of his favorite dogs, but he nods with steel reserve. He scoops her into his arms, which is a bit of a challenge given how big she of a retriever she is, as though he could spread his gift of life into her by contact. “Alright then, I’m adopting her myself!”

The reaction is opposite to Matsukawa’s expectation, and he blinks a bit in shock. Hanamaki must be trying to provoke him, or he wouldn’t throw Matsukawa’s heeding so carelessly aside. “It’s going to be long. And painful. Not to mention expensive.”

“I don’t care,” Hanamaki says stubbornly. He presses his face into her fur, and, muffled against it, quietly asks, “how bad is it going to be?”

“She has cancer. It’s not even detectable right now.” Matsukawa sees the way Hanamaki’s shoulders stiffen at his blunt admission, but he knows from experience that it’s better than to sugar coat it.

“Okay.”

And because a part of him feels close to Hanamaki, closer than he has to any of his kind, he offers something he hasn’t any other. “Her time left is--”

“Don’t tell me,” Hanamaki cuts in. He peeks through the fur, but his eyes aren’t soft like Matsukawa knew them to be. They’re hardened with determination, each gentle pet as protective as it is loving. “It doesn’t matter. Every day is a gift.”

Hanamaki sticks his face back into the dog’s fur and Matsukawa kneels beside him. Honestly, he can admit to himself that he’s impressed with Hanamaki. Not many would face such a situation so resiliently, even if it doesn’t make any sense to Matsukawa. There’s no point in loving something that will inevitably die. He tilts his head while watching Hanamaki gently stroke the golden fur and cooing small nothings into her floppy ear, trying to understand why Hanamaki would willingly take on the pain Matsukawa knows this will end in. “You’re really going to adopt her?”

“Yeah, she deserves somebody to love her.” Hanamaki looks him in the eye as he says it, but Matsukawa looks away.

Instead, he reaches out to pet along the dog’s spine. Each second drains him and she leaves long stripes of fur from where her kisses left slobber, but Khaleesi is soft, warm, and, for the time being, alive.

“Hey, after this, let me treat you to breakfast,” Hanamaki offers. He pets the retriever and his fingers brush against Matsukawa’s accidentally. “Y’know, to make up for dragging you out of your dark hole at the buttcrack of dawn.”

The edges of Matsukawa’s smile quirk up, and he watches Hanamaki from the corner of his eye. “I don’t live in a dark hole.”

“Well then, for helping me choose my new life companion,” Hanamaki corrects, now scooping the dog into his lap and laughing as she jumps up, paws resting on Matsukawa’s shoulders so she can lick his face too.

Matsukawa can barely fight her off, and immediately she curls up around Hanamaki, lavishing him with kisses this time. It’s such a beautiful sight that Matsukawa nearly forgets his words. “Sure, why not?”

-

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you didn’t call me,” Hanamaki says around angry biteful of chocolate chip pancake.

The restaurant is packed with pre-shift customers, that sweet hour for those who rise early enough between commute and work. It means Matsukawa’s shoved shoulder-to-shoulder against Hanamaki, his increasingly tensing shoulders giving him away. “I didn’t want you to think I was anything like their little tales.”

“What? This isn’t a rare time you left the Underworld to kidnap and ravish me because you instantly fell in love with perfect, little me?” Hanamaki flutters his eyes as if he’s the virgin from the tale, though Matsukawa can already tell that this reincarnated form is different. “I’m not worried about it. Humans get things wrong all the time. There’s even a version where I go with you willingly. Besides, who says I wouldn’t enjoy being thrown over your back and carried to your place?”

“I wouldn’t force myself on you,” Matsukawa says seriously. The mere thought twists his stomach like a wet towel being wrung out to dry, and he places down his silverware, appetite leaving him.

“You seriously thought I’d think that? Both you and I know what _really_ happened. Why get self-conscious about it now?” Hanamaki nudges him in the shoulder and despite it being rough, it really does relieve Mastukawa a little bit.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, even smiling a little bit and leaning closer to bite the forkful of chocolate chip pancake. Matsukawa has no idea how Hanamaki can eat dessert for breakfast, but it suits him.

Hanamaki doesn’t even pay any mind as he stabs another forkful and licks it clean. A wink would be appropriate here, but his face melts into one of schoolboy affection, a light blush dusting his cheekbones.. “Besides, you’re the kindest out of any of us I’ve met. You bring peace.”

‘I’m not,’ Matsukawa thinks. ‘I don’t,’ he thinks immediately after. But Hanamaki will fight with him if he insists otherwise, painting a more brilliant picture in his reincarnated form’s head of who Matsukawa really is. He settles on, “I thought you’d work in a maternity ward.”

“I have before,” Hanamaki admits with a shrug. A beat later he winces, a thoughtful look of doubting oneself. “I mean, I think I have. Kind of hard to know when every form forgets the past form. But it felt really familiar. Guess I just wanted a change of pace.”

Matsukawa can understand that. Gravedigger, bereavement counselor, obituary writer: all jobs he had considered but felt too tried or monotonous. “Hm.”

“But you’re a mortician, hm?” Hanamaki gently holds one long, long hum until he finally smiles like a thought just clicked into place. “That suits you.”

“I know,” Matsukawa says simply.

Hanamaki purses his lips, leaning over his plate. Matsukawa hasn’t understood many of Hanamaki’s habits, most of all why he looks at Matsukawa as if he’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Do you like it?”

Matsukawa has never wondered if his job was particularly exciting or whether it made him happy; he simply knew that he had a particular skillset that thrived here. He takes a moment to think it over, squinting at his plate, and finding a reflection of Hanamaki biting his bottom lip in the shiny rim. “I guess. The job itself is gross, and it’s exhausting dealing with grieving families, but…”

“But?”

“But there’s something kind of nice about it,” Matsukawa admits out loud, more to himself than to Hanamaki. There’s so much in his life he resigned himself to than thinking it a choice, knowing well enough what he is and what’s expected of him. But when he thinks about it like now, there’s a lot of satisfaction that comes from his lot, even if it was the one made out to be the worst. “It gives the families closure.”

More so than the new revelation Hanamaki led him to, it’s his next comment that truly surprises Matsukawa: “It’s like giving life.”

“Hm?” All Matsukawa can do is stare blankly. His job is the antithesis of life and always would be, both in these mundane, redundant reincarnations or his true life.

Hanamaki waves his fork at Matsukawa like a teacher might wave a ruler. “Well they’re dead, right? But you make them look alive. You get to create that last moment families get with your, uh, patients?”

Matsukawa blinks twice. He’s never thought of it that way, and honestly the way Hanamaki puts it into words makes his job sound prettier and worthwhile. To distract himself, he downs the small remains of his coffee. “Could be.”

Hanamaki copies him, finishing the last of his bagel and coffee. Matsukawa feels awkward about simply sitting next to Hanamaki now that the pretense of breakfast is over, though he isn’t unhappy about it. Hanamaki turns to him with a grin, lazily resting his cheek against arm arm propped over the table. “I have to get to work before the rescue officially opens. We should do this again.”

Matsukawa watches the quick flicker of Hanamaki’s rosy eyelashes and the gentle curve of his lips, fairly certain Hanamaki’s doing the same with the bored droop of his eyes and the way he tightly holds his jaw. They may have arrived here under the premise of breakfast, but Matsukawa knows better than to believe that’s all Hanamaki expected from this. “A date?”

“Wh-What?” Surprise paints over Hanamaki’s face, obviously caught off guard. But it’s okay because Matsukawa finds his blushing face quite appealing. “Are you always this smooth!? I meant _breakfast.”_

Matsukawa smirks playfully as Hanamaki drags both hands down his face, barely peeking through his fingers when Matsukawa admits, “sure, that too.”

-

This time when Hanamaki calls, Matsukawa picks up.

-

“Static activities are the death of romance,” Hanamaki says after rejecting Matsukawa’s idea of dinner and a movie.

“Well I am good at death,” Matsukawa reminds. Hanamaki’s laugh is joyous and filled with life, and Matsukawa’s pretty sure it’s going to be the death of him.

-

Dinner and a movie is not a proper date activity, according to Hanamaki, but a pottery-making class, a tango lesson, and a karaoke night with Oikawa and Iwaizumi apparently are. One time they just start walking with no direction and end up at a wine and chocolate tasting. Those are the kinds of dates Hanamaki likes, and in truth Matsukawa likes them too.

Around a month into their courtship, Hanamaki makes Matsukawa choose their date for the first time, which Matsukawa warns Hanamaki will come to regret. Matsukawa tries his best, he really does, to find something that will appeal to Hanamaki as much as it appeals to him, but a bitter dimple edges his lips when the countdown on the display reaches zero before they find a way out of the escape room they’ve been locked in for an hour.

“Aww, we lost~” Hanamaki sighs in that competitive, annoyed tone Matsukawa memorized after he kept losing at arcade games. “Bummer. But hey, guess what?”

Matsukawa barely looks up, feeling humiliated by his poor date choice. All he has to show after their hour spent together is stress and defeat.

Hanamaki grabs his hand and tugs on it insistently. “Stop making such a depressing face or it’ll stick like that forever!”

He can barely manage the light rumble of a laugh bubbling in his throat, but it comes spilling out when Hanamaki releases his hand to pinch his cheeks, forcing a silly expression.

“See, I _was_ gonna tell you that I had fun,” Hanamaki says, to which Matsukawa hums back. Hanamaki’s hands release his cheeks and cup them instead, pulling Matsukawa’s face closer to his own. “But now I’m gonna kiss you!”

-

Their first kiss is in a locked escape room. Their second is on Hanamaki’s doorstep. The third is on Hanamaki’s couch, and their fourth is in his bed.

-

For awhile, it’s perfect, but Matsukawa’s no stranger to things falling apart.

-

“I have to cancel,” Matsukawa says bluntly, as soon as he opens the door to Hanamaki. “We can’t go on a date tonight.”

Hanamaki’s face instantly falls, and Matsukawa knows it has nothing to do with how his hair is laying flatter or how his clothes look brighter. Hanamaki obviously put in more effort than the charcoal sweater vest and cotton button-up Matsukawa had worn. “You could have told me.”

“I didn’t know until just now.” It’s a lame excuse, but it’s true. With all the time he’s been spending with Hanamaki, it was easy to forget all the paperwork that’d been piling up. He’d rather drown himself in Hanamaki than in paperwork, and now it had come time to pay the toll for his negligence.

“What’s so important that you’re ditching me _five minutes_ before our date?” Hanamaki asks, crossing his arms. He’s already pouting and even though Hanamaki is mad at him, Matsukawa can’t help but find it endearing.

“Work. Paperwork.” Matsukawa shifts uncomfortably. “A lot of it.”

After a few silent moments, Matsukawa looks up from where he’d found a new interest in the floor. He expects to see Hanamaki’s face bent angrily in the same way Oikawa’s does, but Hanamaki is holding up one eyebrow and blinking, like he expects more. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” Matsukawa swallows, but his throat feels like a ramune bottle, a little ball bobbing up and down and making it difficult.

Hanamaki sighs relief and his arms fall to his side in a heavy pat. “Idiot! If that’s all, then we’ll just stay in. You had me worried!”

Matsukawa blinks and tries to understand what just happened, but Hanamaki’s already pushing him aside and making his way into the apartment. He doesn’t even remember to close the door, a bit entranced by the sight of Hanamaki kicking off his shoes like he owns the place. “You’re not…mad?”

“Eh.” Hanamaki shrugs. His cheeks are light pink and his lips are pursed into a pout, but there’s not a trace of malice in his voice. “A little annoyed, maybe. But this is good too. Besides, I finally get to see your apartment!”

“It’s not very exciting,” Matsukawa says, gesturing to his strict, minimal apartment with a wave of his hand.

But Hanamaki ignores it. He bounces back to the entrance and closes the door for Matsukawa, and when he turns to face Matsukawa after closing it, they’re only a breath apart.

“Sure it is,” Hanamaki insists, “because it’s yours.”

-

Hanamaki declares it a stay-at-home date, which requires ordering two pizzas, buying a two-and-a-half star on-demand comedy movie, and changing into Matsukawa’s sleeping clothes. Matsukawa finds himself staring and perhaps more distracted by the way his gray shirt keeps slipping off Hanamaki’s shoulder than if they had just gone out. But hey, at least he’s written down three more words than had they gone out like originally planned.

They’re both seated on the floor with their back to the couch. Matsukawa’s slumped over the coffee table while Hanamaki’s hugging his writing arm, making it difficult to get any work done. Matsukawa always works at the two-person table in his dining room whenever he’s submitting papers to the state authorities for a formal death certification or notifying social security for the deceased’s family, so the position is a bit uncomfortable and unnerving. Yet even so, it’s perfect.

Hanamaki shrugs and Matsukawa’s shirt falls down his shoulder again, leaving his milky skin and the light freckles dusting his shoulder exposed again. Matsukawa grimaces because he _knows_ Hanamaki is doing it on purpose, but he still leans over to right it. It’s the fifth time in twenty minutes, and Hanamaki flashes that shit-eating grin every time. Perhaps he feels it too, the way Matsukawa feels tingly and perfect every time his fingertips brush Hanamaki’s shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, he feels the same.

That sweet moment of perfection reminds Matsukawa of a quote that has never made sense to him. It’s absurd and ridiculous, but it goes, ‘spring is when life’s alive in everything.’ On a purely rational level, it doesn’t make any sense: not everything has life, and just because something is alive doesn’t make it spring. Matsukawa knows this, but when he looks at Hanamaki eating junk food while wearing Matsukawa’s argyle socks and laughing absent-mindedly at some ridiculous game show on the tv, Matsukawa thinks he understands Christinia Rossetti’s words for the first time.

-

**Summer.**

It is summer, a season Matsukawa hates nearly as much as winter. Like winter, there’s this romanticized notion of it. Matsukawa’s talking about the fifty-cent lemonade stands owned by nine-year-old entrepreneurs that line front yards or mason jars hipsters fill up with iced tea or cheap boxed wine. He’s talking about the blankets rolled over the grass for easy view of the fireworks on a nice, summer day. It’s not all farmer’s markets and the smell of barbecue in the lingering evening sunlight.

There’s all these trite sayings about summer, like, ‘summer knows no time,’ ignoring all the bad parts of the season. There are those who say summer means staying up until two and sleeping in until noon. There are those who say summer means children running around with unbidden hope and energy. Matsukawa says summer means mosquitos breeding and leaving patterns all over his legs and arms. He says that these three months mean the humidity pressing down on him like a hot blanket, the sweat crawling down his legs and leaving him wetter than if he got out of a shower. Yes, summer is as miserable as winter.

And it’s not just because of all the horrible ways to die. Sure, there’s heatstroke and dehydration, causes of death familiar to Matsukawa every June to September. No, the most annoying part of it all is all the needless death. More than any other season, summer has the most unintentional preventable deaths. Just in the past week, Matsukawa’s stitched up a frat bro who died of alcohol poisoning during a party, a woman who fatally crashed while talking on the phone behind the wheel, a child who choked on a deflated plastic beach ball, and a father of two who had managed to both break his neck on a trip down the stairs _and_ burn to a crisp when his twin daughters tried making s’mores indoors.

The body beneath him might be the hardest one of the past week though. There’s a middle schooler on his table, the middle child of three, who keeps leaking water that drips off the table in a slow drip, drip, drip. Matsukawa sighs, wiping at the seeping fluids for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes. If there’s one thing Matsukawa is tired of, it’s all the drowners making his life its own kind of living hell. He continues his work of stuffing the body, knowing that it will pay off by giving some peace to the grieving family going through their own kind of hell. Drowning on a family trip to the beach is only the tip of the iceberg of why summer sucks.

-

Hanamaki wasn’t entirely correct when he said all of Matsukawa’s phone settings were default. Secretly, Matsukawa has one tone assigned to the operations number for the funeral home, and right now (Don’t Fear) The Reaper is blasting from his phone. It’s too on the nose and a bit morbid, but Matsukawa relates to it, feeling much like the elusive reaper in the song. He tries to hope that whoever died at two in the morning didn’t fear the reaper, didn’t fear Matsukawa, in those final moments. “Hello?”

“We got a body in,” his new intern says through the phone.

“Okay. I’m on my way.” Matsukawa blinks the darkness out of his eyes only to realize that it’s not his eyes, it’s that his room is pitch dark. He sits up, trying to loosen the sleep from his tired muscles. “Cause of death?”

“Old man in a nursing home. The nurse on call noticed he was gone an hour ago and started freaking out.”

Matsukawa nods with a final yawn and slumps out of bed. “Text me the address and I’ll be there as soon as I put on pants.”

“Have some modesty, boss!”

“Hang tight until then,” Matsukawa says with a sleepy chuckle, merely smirking to himself. If it was Hanamaki on the opposite side of the line, he would have said, ‘I’ll be there as soon as I put on underwear.’

-

Late night calls are nothing new. At the very least, Matsukawa’s pleased to hear it’s a clean cut job, given that some of the most horrifying and nauseating bodies come in around this time of night. It’s boring but completely routine: calming down the nurse who has never dealt with a patient dying before is routine, lifting the body onto a stretcher to fit in the hearse is routine, looking over the body for a preliminary intake is routine, stuffing it into the refrigerator to delay decomposition is routine. Matsukawa feels nothing but apathy as he performs these familiar tasks, so smooth and sure as an autopilot setting.

More than anything else, it’s the monotony of it all that leaves him wearier than when he was first roused from sleep. He barely has the energy to reach for his phone when the second call comes in. A bit grouchier than he should be for his intern, he answers, “hello?”

“…Oh. It’s so early, I didn’t really expect you to pick up,” Hanamaki’s voice admits sheepishly.

Matsukawa is sleep deprived enough that his mind wanders and gets lost for a moment or two imagining the surprised blush that must be making Hanamaki’s cheeks as pink as his hair. “Death never sleeps.”

“Deep.” There’s a small, beautiful trill of Hanamaki’s laugh, but it’s far too short. “Anyway, wanna hang out?”

“It’s--” Matsukawa pulls the phone away just enough to check, and, yup, still Too Early. “--nearly four. You want to hang out now?”

“Yeah. I was thinking we could watch the sunrise together… Okay, it sounds lame now that I’m saying it, but…” Hanamaki’s voice trails off and Matsukawa doesn’t have to be looking at him to see how he bites his bottom lip like the first time he tentatively asked if they could watch Sharknado.

Matsukawa had plans that involved his pillow and memory foam mattress, but it wasn’t every morning that Hanamaki called at four in the morning with a ridiculous date idea. “Yeah, sounds good. At my place?”

“I’m leaving the house right now!” Hanamaki cheers.

Matsukawa smiles to himself from the sound of Khaleesi barking and a door slamming in the background. “No need, I’m out already. I’ll come pick you up.”

“I _love_ you,” Hanamaki breathes out in relief. It’s not the way that Hanamaki means it, but it still makes Matsukawa’s lifeless heart skip a beat.

-

“Oh my god.” Hanamaki has to cover his mouth with his hands to stop from laughing, but his shaking shoulders give him away.

Matsukawa’s never thought much of driving a hearse in broad daylight -- or in the early hours, as it were -- but he feels a bit nervous as Hanamaki opens the passenger door and slips in. He’s looking at everything with a glare of concentration as if to analyze every inch of the vehicle. Matsukawa swallows uncomfortably, waiting for the inevitable discomfort that comes from riding in a hearse for the first time, the same discomfort each of his employees had the first time they rode with him.

But Hanamaki’s grin could be mistaken for the rising sun. “This is the coolest car I’ve ever seen! Got any bodies back there?”

-

Stopped at a red light, Hanamaki stops tapping his foot against the dashboard long enough to peek into the back for the fifteenth time. “So…there’s really not a body in there?”

“There will be if you keep asking,” Matsukawa quietly threatens with a smile.

-

It’s summer and the nights are mild but windy. Hanamaki brings his favorite blanket, a thin but fuzzy plaid thing made of cyan, teal, and magenta wool, and wraps it over their shoulders. The blanket’s not big enough to cover them both, so Hanamaki takes it upon himself to curl in Matsukawa’s lap. Comfortably nestled against each other on Matsukawa’s bare balcony, they’ve been pointing out Cassiopeia, Lepas, and Orion for the past half hour, exchanging precious memories and laughing at how wrong humans got it between Orion and Scorpius, when the first shades of purple twilight begin to bleed into the sky. The hues of gentle pink crest around the lilac edges, the warm shade reminiscent of Hanamaki’s hair, which brushes against Mastukawa’s cheek with every time he moves.

Any conversation they had gently dies out as the sky comes alive with color, which is why it comes as a surprise when Hanamaki quietly asks, “hey, do you love me?”

Matsukawa thinks about it. He’s been considering the question himself as of late, but he hadn’t reached a definitive answer until Hanamaki plopped himself on Matsukawa’s lap like he belonged there. It’s tight against his throat while he rests his head against the sliding glass door and takes a deep breath, but Matsukawa can say with confidence, “Yeah, I think so.”

Hanamaki’s a box filled with surprises tonight because he doesn’t react enthusiastically like anticipated. In fact he clings closer, like he’s afraid of the answer. “Is it because I’m Persephone?”

“No,” Matsukawa says immediately. He takes a steadying breath while clinging back just as much. This was…the other thing. The thing that made it difficult for them. The never knowing if what they’re feeling is genuine or memory of another lifetime. “I mean, probably. But I still love you.”

Matsukawa blinks through the pink, and it takes a second to realize that’s Hanamaki’s hair peeking above his cheek, not the sky. Hanamaki’s breath is warm against his neck, where he’s resting against Matsukawa, so close that Matsukawa feels the gentle vibrations of Hanamaki’s hum. It’s hard to focus on, especially when Hanamaki’s kissing his cheek. “Cool. I love you too. And not just because you’re Hades.”

Matsukawa feels his posture stiffen and focuses on a particularly bright star that’s beginning to fade into the oncoming light. It feels like an uncanny fantasy, so real and precise, as much as he can’t believe the words whispered back to him. Hanamaki loves him for him. Not because he’s Hades and Hanamaki is Persephone. Matsukawa can’t understand it and wants to ask Hanamaki if he’s sure or why, when Matsukawa has nothing to offer except the promise of death, but that’s not what he asks.

“I’m glad.” Matsukawa kisses Hanamaki back on the forehead. He should give Hanamaki a proper kiss, he thinks, but this feels better.  Quietly and against Hanamaki’s short bangs, Matsukawa breathes. “When did you know?”

Hanamaki snorts just before jabbing his elbow in Matsukawa’s ribs. “Like right after seeing you.”

“Me too,” Matsukawa admits, lips curling against Hanamaki’s forehead.

Pulling away just enough to look at Matsukawa and cock his head to the side, Hanamaki smirks at him skeptically. “Really?”

Matsukawa barely nods, just enough to tip his forehead against Hanamaki’s. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” Hanamaki settles in place, this time pressing his back against Matsukawa’s chest and pulling one of Matsukawa’s arms around his waist. They sit like that as the sky silently shifts above them, the first streaks of blue peeking against the cool tones of dusky purple, but Hanamaki’s shoulders are tense. Hanamaki takes a breath and Matsukawa braces himself for it. “If you knew it the start, why didn’t you call?”

“I already told you.” Matsukawa prefers to think of it as being vague, not as being avoidant.

“Yeah, but something like that wouldn’t really stop you. You don’t seem the type. And ‘sides, both of us know the stories anyway.” Hanamaki squeezes his hand, a bit of reassurance that Matsukawa knows he doesn’t deserve. “So why didn’t you?”

Matsukawa holds his breath as the sky welcomes brighter and brighter hues of blue and then, quietly, admits, “We are what we are, but we don't have to repeat it every time. I can’t know for sure if any other time, we’ve… Well, you can feel it too, can’t you? That we’ve always fallen in together, because that’s what we do. So I thought to myself, ‘I can change it this time.’ I thought you deserved better, and I wanted to give you that.”

Hanamaki laughs abruptly, shoulders and back shaking against Matsukawa’s chest. “You thought you could change _fate_?”

Matsukawa shrugs uselessly. When Hanamaki says it like _that_ , it does sounds a bit lame. “Maybe.”

“Well I can’t know for sure any time before either,” Hanamaki confides, snuggling his cheek into Matsukawa’s shoulder, “but I’ll gladly accept fate in this lifetime if it means being with you.”

Matsukawa’s so focused on the warm weight of Hanamaki’s body against his own that he completely misses the sunrise. That’s okay, he thinks, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Hanamaki’s ear. There’s a sunrise every morning, but he and Hanamaki wrapped up in each other like this is once in a lifetime.

-

Hanamaki begins to doze just as the sun’s starting to arc into the sky, so Matsukawa scoops him up despite Hanamaki’s spirited yet sleepy attempts to push him away. Hanamaki barely has enough energy to kick his legs against Matsukawa with an insistent, “I’m _not_ sleepy!” but he accepts being tucked into bed without restraint. Matsukawa brushes his bangs aside before slipping away to pull the blackout curtains taut. Crawling into bed, Matsukawa’s never been more grateful for his apartment to be as dark as it is.

-

Matsukawa rouses somewhere between noon and five -- he’s not sure with his curtains blocking the light out like this. The only light he needs is by his side, snuggling into his ribs. “Morning sleepyhead.”

“Mornin’,” Matsukawa grumbles, yawning. He licks the yawn from his lips and lolls his head toward Hanamaki. There’s a drool stain that wasn’t there last night, and Hanamaki’s hair twisting every which way makes him want to pet the short hairs down. He resists the urge, appreciating the simplicity of the moment.

“Sleep well?”

“Best sleep of my life,” Matsukawa says, dry enough that it could be completely sarcastic. It’s not though, not that he’s ready to admit it to Hanamaki.

And then. Magic happens. Hanamaki rolls onto him, weight comfortable and perfect on Matsukawa’s chest, as perfect as the kiss Hanamaki leaves against his lips. Matsukawa kisses back and it’s their thirtieth or maybe their one hundredth, but it feels like the first, all sweetness and unhurried gasps between the edges of their lips.

Hanamaki’s hand is tangled into Matsukawa’s hair when he parts, the blacks of his eyes darker than anything Matsukawa owns in his apartment. “Wanna run away with me?”

“Forever?”

“Forever.” Hanamaki lavishes a teasing kiss on Matsukawa’s nose. “Or maybe just a week.”

Matsukawa knows he has a fresh body in the morgue and three other funerals lined up for the next week, but he shrugs. “Sure.”

-

So they haul Hanamaki’s naked cat and two dogs -- Khaleesi and a corgi -- into Matsukawa’s hearse and lower the window separating the driver’s compartment from the back. Stuffing their three duffel bags -- one for Matsukawa, one for Hanamaki, and one for the animals -- into the back, Hanamaki complains exaggeratedly like every time he sees the hearse: “Aww, no body again.”

He’s not complaining once they hit the road, though, holding Khaleesi on their lap for them both to stick their heads out of the window and the corgi curled up on his feet. Aang curls up on Matsukawa’s lap for the entire trip and Matsukawa absently pets him every now and then while Khaleesi’s slobber flies into the wind without care. Hanamaki sings along to Matsukawa’s CDs and tries to find the complete alphabet from every license plate they pass. Matsukawa has felt a lot of things in all of his lives, but nothing like _this_.

-

“Where are we going?” Matsukawa asks.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Hanamaki says vaguely as he flips through the music library on Matsukawa’s phone as though it were his own.

Matsukawa’s frown thins out and he grips the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles begin to whiten. “Can you at least give me directions?”

“You’re going the right way. -- Aha! You _do_ have good music on here!” Hanamaki throws his phone back into the compartment and leans against the window again, rhythmically stroking Khaleesi while singing along to the stereo, as though Matsukawa isn’t completely and utterly stressed about the lack of direction for this trip. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you if you get off course. You’re going the right way for now.”

It’s hard not to get annoyed with such a roundabout answer, but Matsukawa finds that he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. It’s not apathy for once; thanks to some abrupt and startling self-awareness, he realizes it’s because he _trusts_ Hanamaki. “Do I get to ask _why_ we’re going?”

“I already told you,” Hanamaki laughs, poking Matsukawa in the cheek. “You’ll _see_ when we get there!”

-

It’s a five-hour drive, but it doesn’t feel that long to Matsukawa, especially with the dandelions peeking out through the concrete cracks and at the edges of the road.

-

Despite Hanamaki’s minimal direction, they follow a twisting dirt road to a cabin in Yamanashi safe and sound. Matsukawa’s already looking for anything familiar, but all that seems to be around are two men curled around each other on a rocking swing that’s hanging from the porch. Both of them have ridiculous hair, but it’s the owlish guy with silver hair who jumps up and starts running to the car, waving his arms wildly like wings. The dark-haired guy follows behind him in a catlike prowl, eyes narrowing at what Matsukawa assumes is the unknown car.

Hanamaki rolls down his window to greet them, but the guy with catlike eyes still doesn’t seem at ease. The other one, however, cheerfully waits for them to pull into the driveway and lavishes a crushing hug upon Hanamaki through the rolled down window, even before Hanamaki has a chance to get out of the car. “Persephone! You finally made it!”

Like the first time Matsukawa met Hanamaki, there’s a buzz in the back of Matsukawa’s brain and a little hum in his skin. There’s nothing that should make him feel tender right now, tender in the way he only is when he looks at Hanamaki’s smile or his frown or the way his lips push together beautifully when he’s pouting. It’s overwhelming, more so than when Matsukawa’s genuinely memorizing the curve of Hanamaki’s cheekbones to remember them in the next life. It smells like sugar doused over honey dipped in melted chocolate coated on whipped cream, cloy and invasive and filling Matsukawa with an uncanny sense of feeling like he and Hanamaki are lovers out of some romantic comedy.

“You don’t have to use mortal names,” Hanamaki says, only after he’s been released and catches his breath. He’s smirking as though he knows how affected Matsukawa is from the other god’s presence, and he slips his hand over Matsukawa’s. Hanamaki’s aura tempers the intoxicating and alluring haze of passion and sweetness, shaping it gently into something more tender and soft, like the feeling of first love. Once Matsukawa’s taken a few moments to adjust to it, Hanmaki demonstratively jabs his thumb at his friend, to which Matsukawa nods in greeting. “They’re both like us.”

Leaning into the car through the open window, Hanamaki’s friend tilts his head and narrows his golden eyes, as if that would help him figure out who Matsukawa is. It’s no use; their kind can sense each other, but they can’t know who is who just from seeing each other. This guy’s eyes widen and his mouth falls slack. “You found him.”

“More like he found me.”

“We found each other,” Matsukawa corrects a bit more defensively than is perhaps necessary.

“Aph, let them get out of the car at least,” the man in the background says. There’s no shame in the way he wraps his arms around ‘Aph’s’ waist or the way he whispers into the shell of his ear. His aura isn’t as intense as ‘Aph’s,’ but combined with the two auras already pressing down on him, Matsukawa can only describe the feeling as, ‘inspired by love.’

Aph. Aph… Aphrodite comes to mind first, but there’s Aphaea, Apheleia, and Apheliotes too. This guy doesn’t seem like an Apheleia though, leaving the other three.

“Aphrodite,” Hanamaki says as an aside before Matsukawa can dwell on it too much, and he kicks open the car door as soon as Aphrodite’s lover drags him away. Matsukawa blinks in surprise since most can’t guess at what he’s thinking by his passive expression -- or, as Hanamaki had begun to call it lately, his Resting Bitch Face -- but Hanamaki wiggles his eyebrows. “They give you away every time.”

Matsukawa breathes out steadily. Nobody’s ever been able to read him so easily -- or put in the effort to do so, really. It catches him by surprise and makes his heart skip a beat, a delicate moment of self-awareness that’s interrupted when Aphrodite throws himself to the ground, opens wide open, and screams, “Where’s my baby boy!?”

The corgi hops out as soon as Hanamaki opens the rear passenger door, and Matsukawa watches the dog lunge directly into Aphrodite’s chest. Matsukawa pops the trunk and finally gets out of the car himself, navigating through the small throng of Hanamaki’s furry children while Hanamaki greets Aphrodite with a proper hug. The other guy is at his side, tugging out what’s obviously Hanamaki’s bag, but Matsukawa grabs at the straps. “I got it.”

“Ooh~ You’re a possessive one, aren’t you?” the guy teases, yanking on Hanamaki’s luggage. “It’s just a bag. I’m not about to _steal_ your Persephone away when you’ve put in all the hard work to do that already.”

Matsukawa’s never cared about what humans put into record, but his pride feels like a nerve that’s just been pricked the wrong way. He feels the bushy dip of his eyebrows knead lower down his face, but Hanamaki wedges himself between them, pushing the guy with the terrible hair away. “Stop that before you both break my luggage.”

Having won, Matsukawa lugs both his and Hanamaki’s luggage toward the cabin, following Aphrodite’s happy sway, the corgi trotting behind him diligently.

Hanamaki rejoins his side nearly immediately, holding the backpack with all the dog and cat necessities for the week. Matsukawa knows he shouldn’t feel the smokey curl of possessiveness or jealousy, but there’s something about the way these two move with complete familiarity around Hanamaki that rubs him the wrong way. _“Why_ did we come here?”

“I didn’t know you could pout. It’s kind of unfair how cute you are.” Matsukawa barely gruffs Hanamaki points to the dog trailing behind Aphrodite. “Aphrodite wanted to see Adonis.”

 _“That’s_ Adonis?”

Matsukawa might have said it a notch or two higher than necessary, earning a scowl thrown over Aphrodite’s shoulder. “He’s my baby just as much as when he’s human!”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” the nuisance says, slapping a palm heartily against his shoulder. “You never know _what_ form we’ll take. Really makes you wonder, eh?”

“At least I didn’t reincarnate as a pain in the ass,” Matsukawa mutters beneath his breath, just loud enough to earn a loud laugh from Hanamaki.

-

Once he and Hanamaki are left to their own devices to unpack, Matsukawa tugs out the clear plastic bag that’s a jumble of his and Hanamaki’s toiletries and begins to pick through them. Hanamaki forgot his toothbrush, but they can pick one up at the general store they saw at the foot of the mountain or just share. It’s not like he and Hanamaki hadn’t reached that level of domesticity now that they were taking their first trip together. Conveniently, there’s only one bed, but neither of them remarks on it, as though it’s not even an issue until one of them brings it up.

It’s silent except for the few sounds Matsukawa identifies -- the cicadas singing outside of the open window, the cat’s gentle purring from where it’s curled up on Matsukawa’s pillow, the murmurs of dogs and voices beyond the closed door, and Hanamaki’s soft humming -- but it’s still more quiet than Matsukawa prefers. Nearly half a year ago, just the bugs and the lulling sound would have been too loud for Matsukawa’s liking, but that’s changed ever since he got used to Hanamaki’s booming presence in his life. It makes Matsukawa find himself doing something he’s never dong before: making small talk. “They don’t use their mortal names.”

Hanamaki chuckles to himself while tugging one of Matsukawa’s shirt onto a hanger, a pile of their mixed clothes waiting on the bed to be hung in the guest closet. “That’s all you noticed? Well, I guess they’re not used to using their mortal names. They’re both very proud of who they are, and there’s no reason to hide it when we’re all the same. Why, does it bother you?”

“Not particularly,” Matsukawa admits, noting that there’s only one deodorant, Matsukawa’s shampoo, and Hanamaki’s favorite body wash as well. “Do you want me to start calling you by yours?”

“No!” Hanamaki blurts out, face as horrified as his tone. “Can you imagine? That’d be so weird!”

“But you’re fine with it when it’s them.” Matsukawa moodily zips the bag and pads into the adjoined bathroom. He must be light-headed from the drive because the bathroom looks grayscale and he has to blink away the spots from his eyes. He moodily drops the toiletry bag onto the counter and busies himself with stowing away all their needs for the week.

He stuffs the loofah they’ll be sharing in the tub and lines up their tub goods with more anger held tight in his muscles than there needs to be, but all the tension eases out of him at the lanky arms that curl around around his chest.

“Hey, don’t be mad,” Hanamaki mouths says into the bit of t-shirt indented between Matsukawa’s shoulder blades. “Yeah, I’m okay with it when it’s them, but I _like_ your name. It’s like-- We’re reincarnated and we’ll always find each other. But there’s only ever going to be one Matsukawa and Hanamaki. I _like_ us in this lifetime.”

Matsukawa blinks again and the dim bits of color on the shampoo label and the bath wall tiles instantly return to their brightened state. Matsukawa breathes out slowly, letting his head hang loosely as Hanamaki petting his hair chases away the insecurity bubbling in his chest.

-

Finally unpacked both of their luggage and doubts, Matsukawa and Hanamaki emerge to Aphrodite sitting in his lover’s lap and leaning against his shoulder. He’s idly stroking Adonis, now settled on his lap, in the same way his lover pets his spiky hair, but it’s the asshole who notices them first, grinning. “All done?”

Matsukawa pulls a face immediately. There’s the obnoxious floaty feeling bubbling up within him, only it’s too intense and too artificial for Matsukawa to like it. It’s not like the gentle stirring that swells inside him and makes his blood course faster whenever he’s holding Hanamaki in his arms. Without realizing it, Matsukawa imposes his own aura, clipping the heat and euphoria to a manageable level. Aphrodite pouts in his direction as if he can tell who is trying to limit his free flowing aura, but Hanamaki steps closer to him, breathing a little bit easier.

“Yeah,” Hanamaki replies casually and makes his way to the couch, petting an open space for Matsukawa to join him. On the couch across from them, Aphrodite leans in and kisses his lover on the cheek, but the other retaliates by trying to follow the kisses straight to the mouth. Hanamaki makes a silent gagging gesture. “Don’t mind them. They’re shameless.”

“I’m the goddess -- er, god? -- of love! I’m supposed to be shameless!” Aphrodite insists defensively, clinging to the dog and his beau all the more closely.

“Yeah, he’s the god of love, so anything romantic I do is all his fault, really,” the lanky guy adds with a point to the offending source.

Nearly knocking his beloved dog over, Aphrodite wobbles in place and playfully -- or not so playfully, by the way his man winces -- smacks his lover on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t blame me!”

“You just said it was all you!”

“I’ll stop giving you kisses then, jerk!”

“Let’s see how long you last, _husband.”_

“You’re gonna break first, _husband!”_

Matsukawa watches them bicker and make ugly faces at each other, only slightly pissed off that there’s something genuinely endearing about it. But more importantly, ‘husband.’ “You’re Hephaestus?”

“The one and only,” Hephaestus proudly boasts, showing off the golden band on his left hand. Aphrodite excitedly wiggles the finger holding his matching band too and then laces his fingers between his husband’s. “But you can call me Tetsurou, if you want. This is Koutarou. We have the same last name, so it doesn’t make sense to call either of us Bokuto.”

“We could have been Bokuto-Kuroo,” Aphrodite -- Koutarou -- whines.

“We’ve been over this. Kuroo-Bokuto sounds better if we were gonna hyphenate,” Tetsurou complains back. “Hyphenated last names are too long anyway. And _somebody_ didn’t want to give up his last name.”

Matsukawa doesn’t catch the rest of their bickering, a bit in awe of them. There’s a part of him intrinsically linked to Hanamaki, but he hadn’t even considered making an attempt to link them as they are now, in this temporary form. It’s good enough to simply have Hanamaki in his life. The urge for more is there like a bottomless pit, but to link them as mortals do… Well, they were gods for a reason, weren’t they?

Hanamaki doesn’t seem phased by the assimilation of their mortal lives into their true selves, merely looking around the cabin with suspicious scrutiny. “What’s with the new place? It’s nicer but I bet it costs a lot more.”

It defuses the mood immediately, Koutarou now beaming as brightly as a child with a secret he’s dying to spill and Tetsurou grimacing. Matsukawa notices Tetsurou squeeze his hand as if to ground him, simply explaining, “it has an extra room.”

Koutarou bites his bottom lip and holds his breath for precisely two seconds before gushing, “For the baby!”

There’s two separate reactions at the same time. Tetsurou’s: “Damn it, Aph! We agreed to keep that quiet until we get her!” Hanamaki’s: _“Baby?”_ Matsukawa, unsurprisingly, is inclined to agree with Hanamaki.

“Yeah, we’re adopting,” Tetsurou says wearily. He drags a hand down his face and bumps Koutarou’s shoulder affectionately. “It’s been a long, looong process, believe me, but we finally get her in a week. Since we usually have company over, we figured we could use the extra space.”

“She’s _sooooo_ cute! And Russian!” Koutarou says in a dreamy sigh. “Wanna see? Wanna see?”

Before either Hanamaki or Matsukawa can protest, Koutarou’s shoving his iPhone in their faces, a dainty girl with silver hair smiling as brightly as Bokuto and batting her hand at the camera. Most people gush at these kinds of photos; Matsukawa’s just reminded of his job.

“Isn’t that kind of…” Matsukawa trails off because he’s not even sure how to describe it.

Swooping to his rescue to ask the real questions without shame, Hanamaki bluntly asks, “Can you do that?”

“Sure, it’s legal, even though only Heph’s gonna be listed as a dad,” Koutarou responds, a bit disappointedly. The left side of Matsukawa’s upper lip twitches; he may not be used to using deity names, but he certainly isn’t as comfortable enough in this form to accept the laws or beliefs of these temporary forms.

Hanamaki huffs in a familiar way, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling. “I _mean_ , it’s not like your past life.”

“Don’t mind, don’t mind. We’re not even going to tell her. She’ll only know us by our names in this life,” Tetsurou reasons with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine, isn’t it? We’re not going to remember next time.”

Bokuto rests his head on Tetsurou’s shoulder, nuzzling there. “We won’t remember us in this life, but somebody will. And how much we loved each other.”

-

As Matsukawa drives Hanamaki to the vineyard they’re going to meet Koutarou and Tetsurou at for an evening tasting and dinner, he takes a deep breath, and asks, “Do you want--?”

“No,” Hanamaki says. If it wasn’t clear from cutting Matsukawa off immediately, the glare in his eye is. “Can you imagine spending half your life raising a little human just for it to turn out like Oikawa? Can’t risk it. And the furry babies don’t like them.”

“So much for being the goddess of springtime,” Matsukawa mutters in amusement. Although Hanamaki’s response isn’t what he expected, he’s relieved. A god of death isn’t exactly the type to welcome new life in the world.

-

“So,” Tetsurou begins, delicately rolling the wine in his glass and inhaling it, “this is your honeymoon?”

“We’re not married?” Matsukawa supplies, and Hanamaki looks up over his glass of wine with a similarly bored expression, Matsukawa’s pleased to see.

 _“It’s summer,”_ Koutarou says pointedly. He’s blushing a little bit, a perfect caricature of flirty, seductive love, but in truth, it’s mostly the wine he’s been drinking in long swallows. “Seasons changing with your love and all that?”

“Humans say that it’s summer when we’re separated. Demeter’s love makes the weather fair,” Matsukawa points out dryly. The couple across from them both pull an annoyed face, but only Koutarou moodily downs the bit of wine left in two gulps, which Tetsurou reminds him to _enjoy_ and not _swallow_. Matsukawa shrugs it off -- their flirting, the legend, the expectations. “It’s just a silly myth. The seasons worked just fine before we met.”

Hanamaki nods in agreement, head bobbing up and down like a hula girl truckers keep on their dashboards. “Yeah, if all the myths were true, then that means you’ve been cheating on Hephaestus all your life. You’re such a flooze, Aph~”

“I’ve never cheated and you know it!” Koutarou bursts. A few glasses of wine and an extra hint of red from the sudden defiance rising in him, his cheeks are rosy as he defensively crosses his arms. “Heph and I have always been happy! Tell ‘em, Heph!”

“Not a single infidelity,” Tetsurou agrees, covering one of Koutarou’s hands with his own. It’s a small gesture and enough to calm the shorter of the two immediately, but Matsukawa sees through the reassurance in that gentle touch for the possessiveness it is. There’s a matching glint in both of their eyes, a spark of determination that says, ‘he’s mine.’

Matsukawa closes his eyes, deeply inhales the fresh, delicate flavors of koshu in the wine, trying to ignore the part of him that feels the urge to claim Hanamaki in all the ways Koutarou and Tetsurou have bound themselves to each other, but in truth, there’s a bit more to it. What he feels for Hanamaki isn’t simple possessiveness that takes an arm around the shoulder to soothe or a piece of paper that verifies what Matsukawa knows to be true. There’s a security in having Hanamaki around, something deep-rooted and ineffable. It’s a confidence that comes from knowing something is right. If nobody remembers them after they’re gone, then their love will be a secret shared between their bodies, too precious to trust to anybody else. Matsukawa wants to cherish the life they have right now, even if that means they leave nothing left to prove it. He and Hanamaki are here, they are in love, and they know it. Matsukawa doesn’t need anything more than that.

-

“They’re kind of gross,” Matsukawa says that night, watching Tetsurou fuck Koutarou in the shallow edge of the lake behind the cabin. Bokuto’s knees peek out of the surface of the water alight by moonlight, like they’re mermaids out of some other mythology.

 _“The grossest,”_ Hanamaki agrees from the bed. Khaleesi’s curled around his back and Aang on his feet, both extra cuddly with Adonis away for the night. “But they mean well. They just…get a bit out of hand, wanting to make everybody feels as in love with each other as they are. But not everybody feels love the same way, so it’s annoying, you know?”

“Perfectly.” As Matsukawa slips beneath the sheets to curl against Hanamaki, Aang leaps away to curl in the crook of Mastukawa’s knees. He feels surrounded by so much life that it’s a bit suffocating, yet it’s only while snuggling Hanamaki on this too big bed that’s filled with his pets that Matsukawa feels at peace.

“I think we’re a little bit gross too,” Matsukawa confesses before kissing Hanamaki goodnight.

Hanamaki’s kiss goodnight is loose and lazy, just like his smile. “Yeah, we’re pretty gross but it’s the good kind.”

“Just the right amount of gross,” Matsukawa agrees, slipping into a void of unconsciousness that he no longer fears.

-

“You awake?” Hanamaki whispers against Matsukawa’s ear in the morning. His morning breath -- or maybe that’s Khaleesi’s morning breath -- isn’t the most pleasant, but Matsukawa can’t think of any other smell he’d rather wake up to.

“No,” Matsukawa insists, trying to pull one of the spare pillows over his face.

“Fine, five more minutes,” Hanamaki agrees, snuggling beneath the pillow close enough that his lips brush against Matsukawa’s cheek. “It’s too bright and the curtains aren’t dark enough anyway.”

-

One hour later and now unable to sleep _through the pillow_ , Hanamaki presents a list written on his phone directly in Matsukawa’s face. “Which one?”

“Uh.” Matsukawa takes a second to blink the spots out of his eyes, just long enough for the words to focus properly. The list is so long that he has to scroll down, humming as he reads.

  1. Wine tasting
  2. Vineyard and brewery tour
  3. Music forest
  4. Ice cave
  5. Dodonpa
  6. Fuji-san
  7. Stuff
  8. Fruit park
  9. Healing Village -- must rent kimonos!!
  10. Fish park
  11. Fruit picking
  12. HOT SPRINGS HOT SPRINGS HOT SPRINGS
  13. Kofu castle
  14. More stuff
  15. That place with the ropeway
  16. Bird park
  17. FUJI-Q!!!!
  18. Lakes!
  19. Shrines!
  20. Other stuff!
  21. What do you want to do???



“So?” Hanamaki asks expectantly, his eyelashes already fluttering up and down as though they’re powered by energy that can’t be contained. “What do you think?”

“Never been to Healing Village.” Scanning through the list again, Matsukawa finds himself smiling at some of the more touristic options. The ropeway had never appealed to him but he can imagine Hanamaki wobbling at he attempts to balance on it. “Ropeway and Kofu Castle. And I guess Fuji-san since we came all the way out here already.”

“We’re going to do them all, _obviously_. I meant which do you want to do first?” Hanamaki laughs as he steals his phone away, and Matsukawa can’t look anywhere except for Hanamaki’s eyelashes flickering as he rereads the list he made.

 _“Hmmmmmm,”_ Matsukawa exaggerates, complementing Hanamaki’s sass. He rolls onto his side and snuggles close to Hanamaki’s shoulder to peek over the list with him. “I don’t know, but ‘stuff’ sounds like a lot of fun.”

Turning just enough to wink at Matsukawa, there’s a flirty dip in Hanamaki’s voice. “Well duh. _Stuff_ is the _most_ fun.”

-

Matsukawa’s still unconvinced by “stuff,” so Hanamaki shows him what kind of “stuff” before they get up. Twice.

-

For the next seven days, they leave Adonis and the furry (or furless, as it were) squad to the gods of procreation pleasure and volcanoes craftsmen and knock out the items from Hanamaki’s list one-by-one. Hanamaki wobbles on the ropeway just as much as Matsukawa expected. (Worse, even.) They take a soba-making class as per Matsukawa’s suggestion and get in trouble when the instructor tells them to stop throwing their dough at each other. They even make an unexpected stop on the curb to pose with Fuji-san in the background, Matsukawa posing as if lifting the mountain and Hanamaki posing as if hugging it.

He doesn’t deserve these perfect dates of licking ice cream off Hanamaki’s nose dates at the tiny ice cream shop at the foot of the mountain, or holding hanamaki’s hand at the Fuji-Q, or making love to him beneath the stars on an off-road plateau. Matsukawa doesn’t deserve them, but as he’s looking into Hanamaki’s eyes, humid breaths and tense nails scratching down his back, he can’t bring himself to regret any of it.

-

During breakfast on their last day of vacation, it happens again.

“Ran out of milk,”

“I’ll grab it,” Hanamaki volunteers and before bounding into the kitchen, obnoxiously pecks Matsukawa on the cheek. He’s been doing it all week in a mock display of Koutarou and Tetsurou’s public displays of affection.

As soon as Hanamaki’s back is turned and out of view, Matsukawa feels a chill settle into his bones, a familiar sinking as though he’s standing on quicksand. He focuses on the centerpiece of flowers Koutarou picks and changes out daily. They’re bright and then they’re not bright. Or rather, not as bright. And then dimmer still, as time passes on, yet Matsukawa can’t quite remember how bright the flowers were to begin with and it starts to eat at him.

“You okay?” Koutarou asks with a spoonful of oats in his mouth. Tetsurou’s also eyeing him, pityingly, like he knows what’s wrong but can’t do anything about it.

“Yeah,” Matsukawa says a moment later. It doesn’t sound reassuring, but he’s never been the reassuring type. Besides, it doesn’t matter because Hanamaki returns with the milk, and everything seems to be as bright as he remembers it. Matsukawa breathes through it and doesn’t tell anybody.

-

“I wanna take him hoooooome!” Koutarou cries, still hugging Adonis against his chest and sobbing into the dog’s fur. Adonis licks his tears away and barks reassuringly, though Matsukawa’s not sure if that’s a dog being dog or Adonis being Adonis.

“If you want to keep him for longer, then we’d have to move out of the city,” Tetsurou points out, rubbing Koutarou’s back reassuringly. “Do you want to do that?”

The god of love and beauty shakes his head through his tears, and, when his husband wraps his arms around him, finally releases Adonis with a choked sob. “I just miss him so muuuch! You better bring him next year too, Persephone!”

Hanamaki gathers the corgi into his arms, but Koutarou sandwiches the dog when he clasps Hanamaki in a bone crushing hug. Hanamaki barely has any air in him to blandly reply, “we’ll be back before the year is up. We’re only a few hours away; come visit if you’re gonna whine that much!”

Surprisingly, after Koutarou’s done crushing Hanamaki, he scoops Matsukawa in a muscular goodbye hug too, and Testurou claps him on the shoulder, squeezing before he lets go. When Matsukawa’s pulling out of the dirt driveway, he sees them cuddling on the porch swing reflecting out of the rearview mirror.

-

As Matsukawa drives Hanamaki, the two dogs, and the cat back to Miyagi, his heart skips a beat every other second, still thinking about the way Hanamaki said, _‘we’ll_ be back before the year is up.’ Rationally, he knows Hanamaki means him and the animals, but a small part of him dares to believe that they’re Hanamaki _and_ Matsukawa now.

-

Things go back to normal when they get home. As normal as normal ever was since Hanamaki meandered into Matsukawa’s life and heart, anyway. Between the bodies smelling of rot, Matsukawa starts to smell of sunscreen and sand between his toes. He smells like the warm sand Hanamaki buried him in and the salt waters they swam in. He has fresh memories of laying on a floating wooden platform in the middle of a lake and of Hanamaki wearing a big, floppy hat and huge, retro sunglasses.

But it doesn’t stop at beach and lake day trips There’s outdoor movies. There’s long hikes in the cool, quiet woods. There’s napping around a hammock that barely supports their combined weight. Snow cones. Running after the ice cream truck. Blowing bubbles and throwing water balloons. Washing cars, the sound of crickets, and the cool breezes on a hot day swishing between his flip flops.

His favorite has to be when Hanamaki called him in the dead of the night and invited him to skinny dip in this shitty lake thirty minutes outside of town. They both ran out shivering in the damp summer dusk with their skin feeling chilled and wet from the evening air, but it, like everything with Hanamaki lately, is a warm memory.

-

It’s long in coming but Matsukawa thinks it’s time. He gets on his knees and watches Hanamaki fret in panic, looking every which way to confirm this isn’t a prank. “Will you…?”

“No! I’m too young to be a married man!” Hanamaki yells out loud, already crying so much that he has to shove his forearm against his face to dry the onslaught of tears. Everything from the elated wobble of his voice to the quiver of his smile implies contrary to his words. “I’m not ready!”

“Not ready to become the sole owner of the spare key to my apartment?” Matsukawa asks, popping open the little velvet box in his palm to reveal a sparkling key.

“You jerk!” Hanamaki shouts, pushing at Matsukawa’s shoulder as he falls onto him. He snags the key and pockets it, immediately kissing Matsukawa’s face all over, starting with his eyebrows. “I love you so much!”

-

So it’s not surprising when Matsukawa walks into his house one day, finding two rickety fans blaring and Hanamaki, the cat, and the two dogs passed out on his floor, bellies up. “I don’t have air conditioning and it’s too damn hot!”

“Yeah, way too hot,” Matsukawa agrees, not even bothering to change before laying down beside Hanamaki and splaying out on his carpet just like him and the furries.

-

Matsukawa realizes that color has become a part of his life too late to do anything about it. His grayscale apartment now has a plant on the sill of the sunniest window, and there’s two oversized coffee mugs in his cupboard. One says, ‘a house is not a home without a dog,’ and the other has, ‘piss off!’ written next to a fire hydrant. Matsukawa’s got tea spilling out everywhere; he only had early grey and chamomile before, but now Hanamaki’s lined his cupboards with teas called, ‘banana calypso,’ and, ‘raspberry fantasia.’ Hanamaki hasn’t taken back his bright blanket, which is now casually thrown over his couch’s right armrest. It’s an eyesore and stands out amidst all the blacks and greys, but it looks like it belongs and makes the place feel alive.   

As Matsukawa’s sits on his couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table Hanamaki’s left some of his favorite gossip magazines on, he makes a mental note to schedule an appointment with his eye doctor. The colors look dimmer, and he’s been seeing in desaturation more often lately. He closes his eyes and feels solace only from drinking Hanamaki’s tea out a cup that technically doesn’t belong to him.

-

“Stay,” Matsukawa breathes, tugging on Hanamaki’s sleeve. It’s not often that he’s the one to ask something as needy as this, but his chest feels full to the brim of a warmth that only exists whenever Hanamaki’s around.

With the blackout curtains still open, there’s just enough moonlight to light up the little patches of Hanamaki’s face, like his cheekbones and the edge of his thin eyebrows raised in a smile. “You know I want to, but I can’t. Big day tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you,” Matsukawa offers. Hanamaki’s been talking about the fundraiser all week, and Matsukawa had intended to surprise Hanamaki by showing up anyway. He knows how important it is to Hanamaki, and that’s why wants to support him. If that happens to come with spooning Hanamaki all night, then Matsukawa will just have to sacrifice himself.

Hanamaki’s smile falters a little bit, even as he pets Matsukawa’s face in short, gentle strokes. “I have to do this for myself.”

“Okay.” Not even Matsukawa can ignore the hint of pettiness in his voice, the bit that sounds like a petulant child. But he values Hanamaki over himself, and releases Hanamaki from the hold he has on his lover’s hips.

There’s a matching twitch of regret tugging at Hanamaki’s lips as he pulls away, fingertips lingering on the scruffy patch of Matsukawa’s cheek, but Matsukawa merely holds his breath as Hanamaki grows further and further away. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Matsukawa nods. His phone planner already has the day blocked off, not that he needs to tell Hanamaki about that. “Tomorrow, then.”

Hanmaki smiles and nods back as he pulls out of the bed. “Tomorrow!”

Even by the light of night, something makes his room seem decidedly less colorful and bright. Matsukawa blinks into the darkness, hoping that if he tries hard enough, the color and warmth will return again. The purple sky looks a dim gray, and the patch of moonlight that was basking Hanamaki in an ethereal glow now looks a sad gray. Matsukawa clenches his eyes to chase away the grays and emptiness whenever Hanamaki leaves.

It starts raining after Hanamaki goes home that night, the damp air laced with the first icy crisp of the oncoming season. It’s a little early for autumn, but Matsukawa’s never been in control of the weather anyway.

-

**Autumn.**

It is autumn, a season that reminds Matsukawa that winter is coming. While he’s always prepared for the onslaught of the impending winter during these few months, his feelings this year have taken a turn now that Hanamaki’s introduced him to all seven seasons of Game of Thrones. Matsukawa feels like he can sympathize with the Starks: as lords of the North, they’re hit hardest by winter, and Matsukawa feels similarly about his lot in life. It’s hard to concentrate on carved gourds or cozy sweaters when all Matsukawa can think of is how everything is dying. While everybody is sipping on the first pumpkin spice latte of the season, Matsukawa is preparing for what comes after these next few months.

And yet, something is different this year. Matsukawa doesn’t particularly care about the reds and oranges that bleed through the crispy leaves or the orange displays filled with turkey and pumpkin plushies that seem to invade every store, but there’s something almost _exciting_ about the seasonal changes. Matsukawa’s not sure what it is, but the leaves seem crunchier. The broths seem tastier. The oranges seem orangier.

Even now, checking over the body on the table before he stitches her up, Matsukawa doesn’t mind the work before him as much as he usually does. It’s a thankless job and comes with all the associations of pain and suffering, and it’s not very often that he actually takes pride in his work, but Matsukawa tilts his head while inspecting the corpse with an eerie sense of pride. He did a good job on this one. A little bit of makeup to create the illusion of blood flowing in the face, and he might even believe this one is sleeping.

Satisfied, Matsukawa begins to stitch her up. The job is quick after all the effort he put in, not that she was difficult to begin with. Having gone in her sleep with the help of some pills, she came and left peacefully. He’s not sure why this body captures his interest so much, but Matsukawa’s put his all into preparing her for the wake. There’s only so much he can do for her now, but she certainly looks like the lovely woman she would have been if Matsukawa passed her on the street without batting an eye.

After stitching her up, he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and sighs. Matsukawa doesn’t want to admit it, but he thinks he may be attached to this one because he can relate. Maybe she had been like Matsukawa, unable to see any point to the seemingly forever ahead of her. Maybe she had been scared and overwhelmed like he’d been. Whatever her reasons, he can’t know now, so he does what he can, slipping a coin beneath her tongue to finish the embalming process. It’s not an obol, but he suspects Charon will accept it all the same.

When he cups her cheek and feels all the pain and struggle of her life, he allows his fingers to linger, knowing that she’s passed on to a place of rest. She’d be ferried to the Asphodel Meadows, surrounded by the ghostly flowers for the rest of eternity. In that moment, it occurs to Matsukawa that it’s not death itself he hates; death is a neutral oblivion. With a couple of drinks from Lethe, she’d forget herself, just like he forgot himself with every reincarnation. So it’s not death itself that Matsukawa hates. It’s the dying, the suffering, the forgetting. Matsukawa hates death for all the pain it brings, but he’s glad to see to see that for this one, death opened its arms to her and she allowed herself to be embraced.

-

Of course there is one thing that has changed since last autumn. That thing is wearing Matsukawa’s favorite hoodie and forced Matsukawa to buy a festive sweater that has colors other than black and gray on it. Matsukawa has sworn off festive sweaters ever since he was eleven, but he has to admit that he adores this one. It’s an intricate knit with deep shades of orange, rusty reds, and warm browns. But what he loves most about it is how, “resting witch face,” is patterned on it. Hanamaki has a matching one has says, “don’t be a basic witch,” stitched onto it, but it’s in the wash from accidentally spilling a drink on it during their weekly game night with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

-

“I’m going to be late. Got an errand to run,” Matsukawa said.

“Pick me up anyway. I’ll come with you,” Hanamaki said.

So, as requested, Matsukawa rolls up to Hanamaki’s apartment in the hearse, as usual. Hanamaki’s already standing on the steps to his complex, his smile brighter than the reflection on Matsukawa’s ride. If Matsukawa hadn’t been focusing on it so much lately, he might have missed the way Hanamaki skipping up to the passenger side seems to bring…something. Things are lighter, brighter, righter.

“Got any bodies back there?” Hanamaki jokes while slipping into the car.

Matsukawa smirks a bit, waiting for Hanamaki to buckle up. All of the seat belts have plushie protectors to keep them from cutting into the neck. Hanamaki bought them on a whim, but it’s kind of cute to see Mickey Mouse strapped over his chest. He admires it for a second before joking back, “yeah.”

“Wait, really?” Hanamaki squeaks, voice tight and nervously eyeing the separator between the seats and the carriage.

“Yeah. Got called in to transport a body. Shouldn’t take long, I just have to deliver it.” Matsukawa taps the steering wheel tentatively, watching in amusement as Hanamaki curiously gawks at separator like it will become invisible if he stares hard enough. A smirk dawns on Matsukawa’s face along with a brilliant idea. “Wanna see?”

Hanamaki gulps audibly. “Can I?”

Matsukawa nods while the separator lowers. It’s nothing fancy to Matsukawa after years of transporting bodies and preparing them in the funeral home, but he supposes it’s a bit exciting for those who have never seen a body up close before. There’s not much to see, since the body was already pushed into a body bag by the time Matsukawa arrived on scene, but the tented bits of the bag and that freshly deceased smell make it obvious something’s inside.

Given how much Hamaki’s pestered him to see a body and joked about it, Matsukawa thought Hanamaki might have reacted better than the shrill scream he lets out and the way he jerks against the dashboard, putting as much space between him and the body. Maybe that’s why Matsukawa can’t stop himself from teasing Hanamaki a little bit, leaning close to kiss up his jaw.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Hanamaki asks, so close that Matsukawa can hear his heart racing in each of Hanamaki’s breaths.

“Making a move on you,” Matsukawa replies and kisses up to Hanamaki’s ear to bite at it.

As predicted, Hanamaki pulls away, awkwardly squirming as though Matsukawa’s as threatening as the body. It takes everything in Matsukawa not to laugh, especially with the way Hanamaki adorably peeps, “with the body right there!?”

“He’s dead, he won’t mind.” Waggling his eyebrows in the way he knows Hanamaki likes, Matsukawa gasps in shock, complete with covering his mouth. “Unless you want him to join?”

“Don’t even joke like that! Put the window up, it feels creepy!” Hanamaki demands. He rubs his shoulders up and down, not that a dead body has any chill or heat to give off, but it’s still cute as hell to watch Hanamaki squirm like he’s in a horror movie.

Matsukawa feigns a pout as he clicks the button to put the partition up again and pulls out of the curb. He musters his most self-pitying tone. “Now I’ll never get to experience every mortician’s number one fantasy.”

“You’re so gross!” Hanamaki groans while sagging reluctantly in his seat.

“We’re gross,” Matsukawa corrects, sticking out his tongue. Hanamaki also sticks out his tongue in retaliation, but all Matsukawa can see is his face flushed with color and life.

-

Matsukawa slides into the driver’s seat after dropping off the body and sprays himself with the cologne he keeps in the glove compartment for times like now. They’re going on a cider tasting date tonight, and he doesn’t want to smell like eau de corpse. It’s usual to him, so it doesn’t register immediately that Hanamaki’s watching him in horror. “What?”

“I don’t care if you’re late,” Hanamaki says out loud, “but don’t do that to me ever again.”

Matsukawa laughs while starting up the engine.

-

Matsukawa is absolutely _living_ for this, Hanamaki stuttering out scared cheeps and desperately  clinging to Matsukawa so hard that he’s starting to lose feeling in his arm. That’s probably why the call interrupting their horror movie marathon annoys him so much, even as he politely apologizes to Hanamaki for the disruption, pauses the movie, and picks up. Hanamaki gives him a look that Matsukawa can’t blame; he’s never heard himself sound so annoyed. _“What?”_

“Hey, boss!” his intern says a bit worriedly. Matsukawa merely grunts back. “You free to do a pick up right now?”

“No, and I’m not on call either,” Matsukawa says bluntly. He frowns at the freeze frame of the Kayako on his TV and tries not to laugh remembering how Hanamaki was moaning in distress at her appearance moments ago. But now that moment is spoiled, and the irritation begins to build again.

His intern shifts a bit on the other line and gasps. Obviously, he’s found the books with everybody’s schedules, which Matsukawa has reminded him about. Thrice. “Huh. -- Oh wait, I’m looking at the books now. Never realized you weren’t on call. You’ve always been available whenever.”

Matsukawa takes a deep breath, pretending not to notice how Hanamaki laughs when he rolls his eyes. “Well I’m busy with something right now.”

“Some _body!”_ Hanamaki shouts into the phone. “Tell Matsukawa to put on something that _isn’t_ a horror movie on next!”

“Oh, hey Hanamaki,” the intern laughs awkwardly, and afterward he clears his throat. “Uh, okay then, boss. I’ll grab whoever’s on call. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Yeah.”

His intern hums, and even though Matsukawa can’t see him, he knows he’s laughing in that crude way he does whenever Hanamaki shows up to pick Matsukawa after his shifts. “Night, then. Have fun!”

Matsukawa bitterly glares at the phone after hanging up, even though he’s more confused than angry. It’s not until now that he realizes he’s always been on call until Hanamaki waltzed into his life and heart.

Hanamaki tugs at his sleeve, and Matsukawa feels all the confusion dissolve when Hanamaki tilts his head to the side in worry. “Ready to start it again?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling.

-

With a playful smirk, Hanamaki’s the one who suggests they go to a haunted house. Matsukawa’s prepared to offer his arm to Hanamaki at all the expected jump scares, but it turns out Hanamaki’s the one holding him.

-

“Not the best,” Hanamaki whines, trying to gnaw through the candy apples they dipped together. The caramel is way too hard, threatening to crack his teeth, but Hanamaki’s not giving in.

“Still good,” Matsukawa assures. He’s attempting a different tactic: licking the carmel and hoping it melts from his tongue, soft enough to bite through it. For the record, it’s not working.

Hanamaki stabs the candy apple back onto the plate, and, with a big sigh, licks a sugary stripe up Matsukawa’s cheek.

Matsukawa does his best to bat his lover away, laughing a bit at the bits of saliva that remain wet on his face. “What’s that for?”

Humming and lacing both arms around Matsukawa’s middle, he bites into the carmel Matsukawa softened. “You taste better.”

-

“Hello?” Iwaizumi says from the other side of the line.

Matsukawa adjusts his phone against his ear and looks at the piece of paper Hanamaki tore out of a notebook and handed to him. Balancing the phone, he crosses both Iwaizumi’s and Oikawa’s names off of the list. “Hey. Hanamaki wants to throw a costume party at my place next weekend.”

“That’s really a thing, then?” Iwaizumi’s tone has a pop of surprise in it, which seems unwarranted in Matsukawa’s honest opinion.

“Mm. So you in?” he asks dryly. All he hears is Iwaizumi’s gentle breathing, and he can imagine Iwaizumi’s face bent in on itself right now. After a minute of dead silence, though, then Matsukawa starts to worry. “You there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be there. -- Sorry, it’s just. This is the first time you’ve invited _us_ to something. Usually it’s us trying to pull you out of your hole, but… Hanamaki’s really good for you, huh?”

Matsukawa breathes out evenly, trying not to gush in his own kind of way about the light of his life. “Yeah, he’s been really good for me.”

-

A week later, Oikawa and Hanamaki dress up in matching devil and angel costumes, and Oikawa forces Iwaizumi to wear a headband with mouse ears and draws three whiskers on both of his cheeks.

Iwaizumi doesn’t seem particularly happy about the costume -- or lack of -- but he does squint in annoyance at Matsukawa dressed up in his usual suit. “Where’s your costume?”

“I’m dressed up as a mortician.”

“You can’t just-- You’re _already_ a mortician so that doesn’t count!” Iwaizumi reasons, though Matsukawa’s pretty sure it has to do with the mouse ears that Iwaizumi is self-consciously touching.

“Hm.” Matsukawa looks down as his usual uniform in the funeral home parlor: black button-up, black tie, black blazer, black slacks. It’s quite comfortable to wear, so maybe Iwaizumi has a point. “Okay, then I’m a debt collector.”

“Now that’s scary!” Hanamaki shouts from behind, raising a shot in revelry with Oikawa.

-

“Pretty sure debt collectors don’t do _this,_ ” a tipsy Hanamaki teases after they call an Uber for the last drunken guest. He grabs Matsukawa’s crotch while tossing the black tie to a random corner of the room. “So what are you now?”

“Exotic dancer: debt collector edition,” Matsukawa jokes. He squeezes Hanamaki’s milky thighs straddling his chest, enjoying the view as Hanamaki has his naughty, naughty way with him.

Even with his cheeks flushed from vodka and white wine, Matsukawa can tell his blush is genuine from the way it makes the otherwise invisible freckles dark and irresistible. With a poke to his chest for each syllable, Hanamaki starts laughing so hard his hips shift in place. “Then! Where’s! Your! Dancing!”

Matsukawa plays along, gently shifting in place as he starts to unbutton his shirt one-by-one. He opens it for Hanamaki to drag his hands down appreciatively. “You like my sexy dance?”

It’s not until Hanamaki’s licked a stripe down his chest that he looks up, smirking. “More like a stripper.”

“I’m up for a career change,” Matsukawa jokes, pushing Hanamaki down to his hips so the pun about his boner doesn’t go to waste.

-

Between all the moments of laughter, the moments of closeness, the moments of soft sighs and heavy breathing, Matsukawa can almost convince himself it doesn’t exist. But no matter what they do, it’s always there. Hanamaki will get up from the bed and stretch, a little bit of his buttcheek peeking out of Matsukawa’s shirt he’s wearing, and it happens. Hanamaki will kiss him goodbye, and the second Hanamaki closes the hearse’s door behind him, it happens. It even happens when Hanamaki says, “wait up, I’m gonna grab some chips from the last aisle,” when they’re grocery shopping.

Matsukawa will stand there, gripping the cart handle so hard that his knuckles go white, and count down his breaths one-by-one until Hanamaki comes back. Because it’s just simply that the world gets dimmer, when he’s standing alone and awkward in the middle of a grocery aisle as the world turns various shades of monochrome. It’s that Matsukawa’s happiness seems to leave with Hanamaki, seeping out of his body like the color leaving his world. He feels colder. It feels wrong.

He tries to remember if it was always like this or if he’s just noticing it now.

-

It’s not a huge deal when it happens again, Matsukawa assures himself. These things happen all the time. Feeling like this feeds into a toxic and romanticized notion of relationships where they can’t be separated, even as Matsukawa loves both the moments together and the moments apart. Especially because Matsukawa feels like this over _Hanamaki going to the bathroom._

Still.

It’s too quiet. Or rather, it isn’t quiet at all. Matsukawa hears the shattering of a plate somewhere, the beep of the cash register ringing loudly over the newest customers, and the couple in the table next to him discussing their Christmas and New Year plans. (Matsukawa’s hoping the girlfriend wins this argument, since her boyfriend wants to go to his parents in the North while she wants to go to the Bahamas.) So it can’t be too quiet, even if it’s missing Hanamaki’s voice.

Maybe it’s the atmosphere. But no, the temperature feels fine, even if he has to wear a cardigan, and surrounded by this many humans on a rare sunny afternoon, he feels all the hopeful life thrive around him. He can’t even blame it on the music, since he likes the soft lull of the indie artist, one that Hanamaki introduced him to, playing in the background. Even his coffee, which the shop calls, “Black as Death,” is delicious and perfect.

Matsukawa’s eyebrows wrinkle toward the floor at the impossible-to-pinpoint and unsettled feeling, though it bleeds away and the color returns as soon as Hanamaki returns to his seat. “Missed me?”

“Yes. Excruciatingly.”

“Ha ha! You joker,” Hanamaki says, cupping his coffee mug and inhaling the aroma deeply.

While Hanamaki’s taking a sip of his Almond Joyful coffee, Matsukawa does something impulsive. “Want to go to the Bahamas for Christmas?”

“Sure,” Hanamaki says, his smile around his mug as quick as his answer.

-

“Does the world lose its color when I’m not around?” Matsukawa asks, his fingertips brushing against Hanamaki’s from their matching, fingerless gloves.

“Hmmm!” Squeezing his hand and tugging it closer toward him, Hanamaki exaggerates a hum and rubs his chin in a parody of thought. “No? Things just -- they get brighter when you’re around.”

Matsukawa’s face squishes in on itself as he thinks about that. “Meaning they get dimmer when I’m not around.”

“No, it’s just brighter whenever you’re around,” Hanamaki insists, a bit offendedly even.

Matsukawa sighs. It’s a classic case of the glass being half full or half open, but it sounds a lot better when Hanamaki says it like that. “I think I know what you mean.”

-

On the day the final leaf flutters to the ground, Hanamaki stretches toward the sky and excitedly inhales the fresh, late autumn air. “Winter is coming! I can’t _wait.”_

Matsukawa only spares him a second of surprise, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t judging Hanamaki at this very second. “You like winter?”

“Yeah, don’t you?” Hanamaki shrugs, asking back with an equal amount of judgement.

Matsukawa locks his apartment behind him, giving him enough time to settle on: “I hate it.”

“Really!” It’s the same tone of shock Matsukawa had hearing that Hanamaki _likes_ winter. Matsukawa judges him a bit less with the way Hanamaki’s hand slips into his own. “What’s your favorite season then?”

They start walking to the rescue; Hanamaki had asked to walk today, though Matsukawa hadn’t been told it was to celebrate the dreaded oncoming season. “Spring.”

“Ew.”

“What?” Matsukawa asks immediately, tugging Hanamaki close. They playfight, a little bit awkward with both of them refusing to break hands, and Matsukawa wins, twirling Hanamaki a in his arms and claiming a quick kiss in victory. Come to think of it, that probably means it’s a victory for Hanamaki too.

Hanamaki sticks out his tongue after the kiss, breathing so heavily that his breath makes a cloud in the chilly air. “I said, ‘ew!’ It’s too noisy and distracting! Too much going on at once!”

Matsukawa must stare for longer than he thought, because Hanamaki shoves at his shoulder, and defensively asks, “what’s that look for?”

“I’m just surprised,” he confesses. It’s the truth too: everything about Hanamaki reminds Matsukawa of spring. It’s his lot in life, not to mention the power he has over mortals. To think he hates spring… Well, that just doesn’t make sense.

“Why? Winter is the best. It’s the start to everything.” Hanamaki says it as though it’s a simple, obvious answer, leading Matsukawa away.

“It’s the end,” Matsukawa corrects.

“No? Fall is the end, when things die.” Hanamaki starts waving their hands between them and kicking his feet at the dead leaves for emphasis. “In winter, everything’s just getting ready to spring out again. It’s not like things just magically spring up. Things need time to grow and they need to get ready before they can do that, so winter’s like a reset button.”

“But everything dies in winter,” Matsukawa insists. “Completely.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “Why should winter get blamed for death when we’re dying from the second we’re given life? Spring’s the cruel one, don’t you think?”

“Huh.” Matsukawa feeling a little proud of the season he’s always held close to himself and hated.

“Come to think of it,” Hanamaki says with a grin that warms the chilly air around them, “you remind me of winter. Must be why I like you so much.”

-

Matsukawa realizes it on the last day of autumn. It’s a silly time to realize something of this brevity, but of course it would come at a moment when he’s looking at Hanamaki.

Because it’s always been Hanamaki. The mortal myths are wrong, Matsukawa knows now, like a memory he can remember perfectly but forgot until now. Winter isn’t caused by Demeter’s pain and agony, wherever the hell she might be, from being separated from Persephone, and spring doesn’t come from the bliss of being reunited. In fact it’s the opposite: winter happens because Hanamaki comes in and out of Matsukawa’s life, Matsukawa’s power unconsciously seeping into everything around him in the hopes of making everything as miserable as he feels inside, and spring blossoms when Hanamaki returns to Matsukawa’s arms, where he belongs. It’s those quiet moments that build up, moments that spike and dip like a heartbeat throughout the day, the overwhelming joy and longing that accrues little by little.

The camera on his phone clicks as he takes the picture.

“How’d it turn out?” Hanamaki asks.

“Perfect,” Matsukawa answers, knowing he doesn’t have to look at the picture for it to be true.

-

Matsukawa’s phone beeps in the custom text tone he’s assigned to Hanamaki’s number. It’s a quick tone of a birds chirping, which matches the ringtone of wind chimes and birds singing when Hanamaki calls. Matsukawa smiles at the cheerful notes and the message on his screen: “Made it home safe!! Miss you already!! xoxoxoxoxoxo”

The light drizzle of rain outside bats against Matsukawa’s windows as softly as Hanamaki’s eyelashes bat against his cheek whenever Matsukawa’s holding him in his arms. The rain outside is cold and constant, but Matsukawa thinks this winter will be a warm one.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to hmu on [tumblr](https://90stimkon.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/cloneboys), or [consider commissioning me](https://90stimkon.tumblr.com/post/162750545663/commission-me)!


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